24 July 2011

Taking Responsibility & All That

"You're so secretive."

That's what the Bitter Longhorn said to me after dinner last night. My first response was to be defensive. I told him I share -- I actually over-share on a regular basis. He said "yeah, but not until asked." 

Naturally, he was right. Somewhere along the way of (over) sharing, I started keeping secrets. I really don't think it was intentional. Most people at work are too busy to care. I was too busy to blog. I was too busy to send e-mail. I was too busy doing things that only some people know I do. There are people who know x, and people who know y. But these days there are only seven people who know xy. That is neither an exaggeration nor an extrapolated figure. There are seven people who know all, and I admit I've wrapped myself up in keeping them up to date. But that's not really me. It's not how I best function. Everyone should know about me and what I'm doing. It's (at minimum) the best way to keep me from repeating stories. Fortunately, for ye followers on the Internet, I have stories to tell. 

Let's take it back to the beginning of June, yes June!

3 June 2011
I had another doctor's appointment that should have changed my life. Actually, I should have changed my life well before the appointment. I didn't lose the weight I was supposed to lose. In fact, I gained. For even more of a frown, my blood pressure was still high. Let me rephrase that; my medically regulated blood pressure was still high. My doctor was very concerned about that. She took her time in explaining all the ways hypertension could kill me. I swear she pulled new tricks out of the bag, such as "renal failure." As per usual after a visit with a medical professional, I was depressed.

No, I was not exercising as often as I should have been. No, I had not eliminated cheese from my diet as I probably should have. Yes, I was eating processed foods at some point during the week. But no more than everyone else around me. I'm healthier than some and not as healthy as others. I went along with the gang, ordering turkey burgers (with apple chutney & sweet potato fries) on a few Friday nights. I saw no reason why my health should be more adversely affected than that of my co-orderers. It was unfair. I tried to rally against it. But there was no one to hear my grievance. So I had to take a less pleasurable route. I had to take responsibility. 

My body, as traitorous as it has been, is my body. It's the only one I've got and it's my responsibility. I have to listen to it. I can't eat soups or cheeses just because I should be able to eat them. I have to sweat often. I have to eat bananas. I have to take the measures that will keep the phrases "renal failure" and "irreversible damage" out of my doctor visits. I really have to do what must be done in order to live. It is that serious and I know that. I knew then, after my appointment back in June. And I promised to take of it, to take care of me.

The next morning I went to Vegas.

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